Many said that coolie Ayyappan had fled past Kadukkarai village and entered Tirunelveli district through a secret mountain pass. They believed the Travancore police would find it difficult to apprehend him until they secured the cooperation of the Tirunelveli police. Others acted like they had access to secret intelligence and surmised that he had boarded a ship to Sri Lanka. Dhamu, they claimed, had secured him secret passage. It could be true—anything was possible when it came to Dhamu. He had the intelligence and the courage to achieve whatever he set his sights on. Some even said that the Travancore Nesan printed a picture of coolie Ayyappan, along with a promised reward for information on his whereabouts, but I don’t recall seeing it.

After ten years, Dhamu’s name was once again on everyone’s lips, just as it had been in the days of the August Movement. Was there anyone who did not marvel at his courage back then? What sort of man would refuse to take off his turban when asked to do so by a police superintendent (D. S. P. Achyutan Nair, if I remember correctly)! After all, the man hadn’t asked one to cut his own throat! The crowd that had gathered at the clock-tower junction witnessed the whole scene. At ten in the morning, in broad light, four constables shoved Dhamu to the ground, surrounded him, and kicked him as hard as they could with their boots, like he was some plaything. It is the absolute truth that he refused to take off his turban right up to the end. No exaggeration. It is a different matter that his turban fell off and rolled to the side when he writhed in pain. Some people said they saw him crawl on the cement road toward the turban, coughing up blood but still determined to wear it. Now that is an exaggeration. I have heard from witnesses that he kept shouting “Bharat Mata Ki Jai!”—“Long live Mother India!”—until he lost consciousness, but he never stopped clutching the turban.

After that incident, whenever anyone referred to “the August hero,” it was clear they meant Dhamu. Back in those days, there was no greater role model for the young people of our town. His turban never left his head after that. When he went to an important gathering or to speak at public meetings, the turban was on his head. A few imaginative boys in my school said that the only time Dhamu removed his turban and tied it around his waist was when he stood in front of a picture of Gandhiji. That struck me then—as it does now—as something they had conjured up; they had an active imagination in many such matters.